


Bathing

by WahlBuilder



Series: 30 days of rarepairs [5]
Category: Bound By Flame
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bisexual Male Character, M/M, Present Tense, Swearing, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Vulcan gets showered with goo during a fight in the forest, and Randval comes to rescue (as he always does).





	Bathing

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _fuck_ …’ Vulcan is hopping on one foot, even though it does nothing to ease his… predicament. Swearing does not help either, but feels good anyway, so he continues until a rasping voice thunders in his head, **Thy swearing is disgraceful.**

‘Well, _excuse_ me,’ Vulcan mutters. ‘You are not the one covered in goo—’ **As I am currently trapped in this vessel, I must say—**

Vulcan groans. ‘Please, shut up right now!’ He knows it won’t do him well to argue with the Demon, but, miraculously, the entity does go quiet—though not without grumbling and pawing at Vulcan’s mind like an annoyed cat. Not that Vulcan has ever had a cat living in his head—body—whatever—before.

The foul-smelling thick liquid is seeping under his armour, and he shivers… Oh _fuck_ , it’s soaking through his undershirt and gluing it to his breasts. And his braids are definitely a mess now.

He didn’t expect that the bulbous… floaty… thing would _explode_ upon its death and shower everything in vicinity with its ichor or whatever it is. At least it doesn’t seem to be venom or acid. It doesn’t sting.

**Yet.**

Ever so helpful, aren’t we?

Vulcan shakes his daggers but the goo, greenish and sickening, only lazily slides down the blades. Great. He has to clean everything.

‘Does the mercenary need any help?’

Vulcan jumps, daggers raised, but then lowers them with a sigh—and regrets the movement immediately as a huge droplet of the slime slides down his spine into his pants.

Randval, though, looks as peaceful as ever, and as immaculate as ever, his huge sword on his shoulder. Show-off. Not even a strand is out of order in his carefully brushed and tied hair, all the tiny bones in their places.

Vulcan scrutinizes his form, from the hair to the maintained beard to the dulled metal of his cuirass, to the bones sewn onto the front and onto the thighs, to the high boots…

**Thy longing serves no purpose. We must proceed further to our goal.**

‘Shut _up_ ,’ Vulcan mutters again. He doesn’t need lectures from a demon who doesn’t even understand desire or the crippling loneliness or the empty feeling of **—I have known much more than thou can ever imagine, mortal.**

Vulcan shakes his head—and curses once more as the goo nearly slides into his ear. Then glances at Randval quickly, worried that the Knight might have thought the comment was meant for him.

But Randval is only looking at him curiously, his head cocked to the side. Unlike everyone else who encounters Vulcan’s new… abilities or the presence of his ‘guest’. Randval has advised caution, yes, but he doesn’t throw accusations at Vulcan for favouring the Demon or what-not.

Vulcan appreciates this.

He smiles crookedly and lifts his arms, the goo weighing them down. ‘I’m afraid the mercenary is in a dire need of a bath, but he might not find anything suitable in the camp. I only hope this… subtance won’t eat through my armour, weapons, and, you know, my skin.’

Randval moves his sword to the baldric. ‘The Knight knows a way to help the mercenary, if the mercenary wants the Knight’s help.’

Vulcan shrugs—winces as every tiny movement makes him aware of the slime. ‘Whatever the Knight can offer, the mercenary is up to it. It can’t get any worse. Besides it being corrosive, I mean.’

‘Then the Knight asks the mercenary to follow him.’

And Vulcan does—keeping his arms away from his body at an awkward angle, the daggers clutched in his hands. He hopes the walk won’t be a long one: the slime is drying on some parts of him. On the parts where he’d prefer it not to dry.

To his surprise, Randval leads him further into the forest, but since the Knight doesn’t free his sword from the baldric, Vulcan takes it that it’s safe enough here. Soon, they leave the wooden planks and step onto stones, flat and round and mossy. Doesn’t seem like a lot of people have been here lately.

Vulcan nearly slips on one of the stones, but keeps his balance and, thankfully, doesn’t embarrass himself in Randval’s eyes. Then the path makes a turn and instead of clinging slime Vulcan feels clinging heat—of steam and water. He groans. ‘The mercenary is _so_ grateful!’

Randval’s chuckle nearly makes him shiver. Nearly.

To occupy himself, he looks around.

There is a basin set with stones and filled with clear, slightly blue steaming water. The stones make it obvious that someone found this spring in the past, but since the bushes around it are not exactly neatly trimmed, Vulcan assumes it hasn’t been used in quite some time.

**Thou shalt undress in front of the Knight** , an unwelcome voice booms in Vulcan’s head. **And taking thy fondness for him into consideration—**

‘Aw, shut up!’ It’s bad as it is without the entity pointing out the obvious.

‘Is the Demon bothering the mercenary again?’ Randval asked in his melodious, sing-songy tone.

Vulcan busies himself with trying to unbuckle his armour and jacket. ‘Yeah, yeah, always does. Lectures me all the time. Shit.’ The smaller buckles slip in his fingers. Great, just great. Now he has to cut them off.

He startles when Randval’s voice sounds very, very close behind him, ‘Shall I help the mercenary to undress?’

He turns, ready to decline politely—when he caught Randval’s little smirk. It is strange and very endearing on the Knight.

It is also very, very indecent.

Vulcan doesn’t have anything to say when the buckles and clasps and ties are undone, and the jacket is carefully taken off his form. The slime—goo, ichor, whatever—has made his white undershirt nearly transparent, and he expects some comment from Randval—because well, Vulcan has breasts. Yep. But Randval only tugs the hem of the shirt up, and Vulcan hastens to lift his arms to let the knight pull it off.

His chest is itching like mad.

Instead of covering himself, Vulcan rolls his shoulders. Let the Knight see him in all his glory, he has nothing to be ashamed of—and Vulcan is not disappointed when his efforts are rewarded with a raking gaze, slow and appreciative. He arches an eyebrow. ‘The mercenary thought the Knight had a wife.’

‘The Knight had. Does not mean the Knight cannot appreciate men, too. And the mercenary has only flirted with Sybil so far.’

Vulcan snorts. ‘Fair enough. It does not mean I cannot appreciate men either.’ He grins. ‘So… Will the brave Knight help the mercenary bathe?’

Randval’s answering smirk makes heat coil in Vulcan’s belly. ‘With great pleasure.’

The Demon in Vulcan’s head is doing something akin to rolling one’s eyes, but stays quiet, and it’s good enough for Vulcan.


End file.
